


We Who Share A Common Heart

by YouLookGoodInLeather



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Cassian is convinced it's all an elaborate plot to murder him, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Mating Bond, Oral, Smut, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 18:45:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10645809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouLookGoodInLeather/pseuds/YouLookGoodInLeather
Summary: 'There is a dark, delicate thing bound within his chest, and it lives and breathes for Rhysand.For Feyre, he feels something different, though just as reverent. She brought light and hope into their crumbling kingdom, and for that he is infinitely grateful. Not only that, but she is his friend. There is such a profound depth within her that when she takes him under her wing, he feels safer than ever before, and in return he will die a thousand deaths for her if ever fate should demand it.'_____________Cassian is invited to spend not just a night, but an entire weekend in the bedchamber of his High Lord and Lady. It will be an equal miracle if he survives.





	We Who Share A Common Heart

A lesser man would be intimidated when his High Lord – coincidentally _the_ most powerful High Lord ever – invites him into his bedchambers, to fuck both him and his mate for a weekend of luxuriously indulgent threesomes.

Oh, who is Cassian kidding? He’s intimidated as hell.

Smoothing his shirt over and over again in an attempt to feel at least _vaguely_ prepared for whatever is about to happen, he arrives at his rulers’ shared quarters in the House of Wind and takes a deep breath to steady himself. He knocks.

The grand Ash door swings open all by itself. Lurking from within the room, a sinfully silken voice commands, “Come in.”

“My Lord,” he responds, stepping in and bowing to the man, mentally praying _please don’t kill me_. At Feyre, who sits upon the bed beside him, he grins. “My Lady.”

Despite the war with Hybern proving that she could smite them all to dust if she so desired, Cassian cannot fear her. They both share a co-conspirator kind of smile, having spent many late nights at war gossiping about Rhys’s secret weaknesses for chocolate and backrubs, or planning pranks to play on Azriel and Amren to lighten the mood. He trusts her, in all things. Rhysand, however, is in possession of a dick, and temperamental Illyrian instincts. He’d rather not piss those instincts off, thank you very much.

“You’re sure about this?” He asks the Lord in question, who quickly mirrors Feyre’s wicked grin.

“Oh, absolutely,” he purrs, running his hand across her bare back, for both of them are clothed solely in their underwear. Cassian notes that Rhys must have made good on that promise to visit the lingerie store, for Feyre is swathed in a meager slip of a thing, no more a few scraps of black lace really. They fail to cover the dark hair of her pubis, and barely obscure her dusky nipples.

They are both far too beautiful for this to be fair on his poor heart, or his cock. “You look divine,” he says softly to her, watching Rhysand for his reaction. The High Lord is unreadable, however, his dark eyes smoldering ominously. If he is going to murder Cass for that comment later, he does not betray the intention in his eyes.

“Thank you, Cass,” she says with a fond smile, and extends her small, graceful fingertips to him. “Come. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Cass figures a night of that seductive tone is well worth dying for. Like a moth to a flame, he approaches the bed and crawls across the sheets, kneeling before them, positioned equidistant from them both. “Fighting leathers, really?” Feyre asks, raising an eyebrow as she picks at his out of place clothing.

“I didn’t want anyone to see me outside your chambers and suspect…”

“Think they’ll be jealous?” Rhys teases with a laugh. Cassian echoes the chuckle, though his heart isn’t quite into it as the comment turns his mind to what’s been worrying him.

“Why me?” He asks, trying not to sound as insecure as he feels. Just- Azriel is a beast in the sack. And a millennia old for cauldron’s sake. She’s got to have some moves.” He backtracks quickly, “Not that I’m ungrateful! I just-”

“Cass,” Feyre says, resting a hand upon his shoulder. “We want you.” She glances sideways at Rhysand, then after he gives a short nod, she smirks. “ _I_ want you. This was me making good on a promise Rhysand made long ago. And we love you, Cass. Not like we do each other, but in a different way, a way that means though we might not be mates, we’d relish the chance to show you how we love you.” She cups his jaw, meeting his gaze. “So. Will you accept our love?”

He risks a glance at Rhysand, who just smirks and takes one of his hands, toying with his fingers. Looking back at Feyre, he dares to smile. “I would be honored.”

They collaborate in stripping him naked, so he feels bare and exposed even with Feyre dressed in her pitiful excuse for underwear. Feyre, with her kind hands, explores the contours of his body, examining his tattoos and comparing them to Rhysand’s. Her forefinger traces the swirls and symbols of the inkwork, reading aloud the runes that she can read. Rhys has been teaching her Illyrian.

“They’re not the same,” she notes, looking between his marked chest and Rhysand’s shoulders.

“Each Illyrian’s markings are deeply personal,” Rhysand answers, shuffling closer to run his palm up Cass’s arm. “Cass spent weeks refining his.”

“Gotta impress the ladies who can read ‘em,” he says with a grin at Feyre, who giggles.

“And the men?” Rhys asks airily, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to the huge swells of his muscles. Cass may not be as classically handsome as his Lord, but he has a beast of a body, broad and chiseled like the gods of old, the dozens of scars marring his skin only enhancing his hyper-masculine appearance.

“You know me.” Cass leans over to his lord, and with a slight shiver of nerves, he kisses him tenderly upon the lips.

He has always loved this man, ever since he took him in, back when he was a salty child. He has loved him across the years, killed his way across mountainsides to protect him, faced horrific warlords for him, slain men, women, and children in his name. There is a dark, delicate thing bound within his chest, and it lives and breathes for Rhysand.

For Feyre, he feels something different, though just as reverent. She brought light and hope into their crumbling kingdom, and for that he is infinitely grateful. Not only that, but she is his _friend_. There is such a profound depth within her that when she takes him under her wing, he feels safer than ever before, and in return he will die a thousand deaths for her if ever fate should demand it.

“I’d like to know you better,” Rhysand flirts shamelessly, and with a push of his calloused hands he pushes Cassian back into the bedsheets, pinning him. Grinning wickedly, Cassian grabs him back and they wrestle, flipping one another over, competing for who gets to go on top. Snuggling into the pillows, Feyre watches and cheers them on, providing a running commentating the match. When Cassian finally defeats Rhysand, pinning him with an elbow to his throat, she claps delightedly.

“Well done Cass,” she says, padding over and looking down at her beloved mate. “He needed that. We’ve got to keep his ego in check _somehow_. Now,” she smirks, and without mercy she shoves Cassian off and pins him expertly to the sheets, “time to stop with the games, don’t you think?”

Though Cass has mostly seen her as a friend until now, she is undeniably sexual as she slides her hips down so that her crotch presses down upon his groin. He is deliciously hard. “Wrestling with Rhysand please you that much?” She says, running her fingers up his length before pushing up onto her knees. “Well. Hopefully you’ll enjoy this even _more_.”

She slides down onto him, and he does not care that he cries out, for he trusts them both. It hurts she is so hot and wet and tight inside, and all he can think is: _My High Lady is fucking me,_ and he wonders if this is as close as he will ever come to perfection. Her fingers and tongue and teeth treat his body like she does the rest of life, with endless compassion and warmth and just a spark of fire and sass. Especially her teeth. Her teeth get especially playful.

 _Fuck_ , Cass thinks, tipping his head back into the sheets as she grinds against him, rocking up and down. Sitting before his head is Rhsyand, who has his own cock grasped firmly in his hand. He glances down at Cass and smirks dark and slow, and Cass can see it now, burning in his eyes. _This is my mate_ , that looks says, and isn’t she fucking wonderful?

 _Yes,_ Cassian wants to say, but he is breathless and disorientated as sensation sweeps across his limbs and fogs his brain. _Yes. Yes, she is the light of this world and I want her._ He looks up Rhysand, beautiful and dark and so seductive, and thinks _And I want you too. I want you both, now._

He has only to make a small whining noise and Rhysand understands him. He maneuvers to straddle Cassian’s head, his back to his mate, and allows Cassian to take his cock into his mouth. It is a welcome filling, for it helps suppress the mewling whimpers that threaten to bubble up his throat and spill into the bedchamber. His cock tastes of salt and rust and something bitter, not entirely unpleasant, and Cassian takes him deep into his throat, swirling his tongue across the shaft and teasing the dripping head with the tips of his teeth.

“Holy fuck-” Rhysand hisses, and at first Cass thinks it is because he is doing such an excellent job. At the sound of Feyre’s devilishly sinful laughter, however, he realizes he can take none of the credit. She has two fingers forced playfully up the High Lord’s ass, and she scissors them experimentally, seeing how wide she can open him. It produces the most wonderful symphony of gasps and moans from him, bowing him forward so he has to lean against the headboard to stop himself collapsing. “Feyre,” he gasps. “Fuck, _Feyre_.”

“Oh no,” she murmurs, stretching him further. “You two don’t get to come until _I_ say so.” And she lives up to the sadism in her tone. Her grinding against Cassian’s cock is intolerably slow, leaving him aching for more, for her to just fuck him already. She refuses to press to deep into Rhysand, merely flirting with the rim off his ass, splitting it but never burrowing in.

Rhysand, clearly used to this horrific treatment, laughs like a madman, or so Cassian thinks as he resists the urge to scream for her to _hurry the fuck up and fucking fuck him already_. “Oh, you cruel, cruel, wicked thing,” Rhys purrs, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. When he speaks, he does not look at Cassian, but he knows it is intended for him, “Isn’t she wonderful?”

“No,” Cassian hisses through gritted teeth, “She’s a fucking sadist is what she is. Feyre- please.” They both laugh at him and he shudders, disintegrating on the bedsheets from mere frustration alone.

“Poor puppy,” Rhysand croons, running his palms across the firm planes of Cass’s chest. “A little desperate are we? When was the last time you had a good fuck?”

Too long ago, Cass thinks, for he hasn’t been touched since before the war, and even then he was on a dry streak. “Please,” he whimpers like a thirsty man. “Please. Please, Feyre, I need-” He does not get to finish, for she slams her pubis down against his cock and he sounds more swear words than he thought he knew at the pain and pleasure it sends running through him. The pace is set anew. She fucks him – really fucks him, and he is orgasming violently in a matter of seconds.

Her fingers buried in Rhys’s ass, he too soon comes inside Cass’s mouth, filling his throat with hot, sticky fluid. Like a well-trained slut he swallows, near gagging as he’s deep throated even as he shudders through his own orgasm. Atop him, Feyre is laughing and panting, catching her breath before sliding off of him. “So big,” she mumbles, stroking Cass’s spent erection, before leaning over and kissing Rhysand’s earlobe. “I love you two.”

Turning, Rhysand steals her lips and occupies her in a long, deep kiss, before he sits down on Cass’s chest and looks at him with a crooked grin. “You really needed a good fuck, huh?” He mocks, and Cass knows the slyness in his tone has everything to do with his protectiveness of his mate.

“We have all weekend, darling,” Feyre says, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing her mate on the cheek, though she looks at Cass. “By the time we’re done, you won’t need another fix for _months_.”

And just judging by that night, Cassian thinks she may well be right. The boys take turn eating Feyre out; First Rhys’s loosened ass is taken full advantage off as Cassian fucks him, with Feyre sitting upon his face and orgasming faster than the both of them. “Rhys has always been talented with his tone,” she says, setting up the rivalry. Cass tries next, and is deeply humiliated to find it takes him a solid ten minutes to get her to come, though she does so thrice, in slow, glorious waves that she says are the best she’s had in weeks. Rhys flashes him a malicious grin, and he thinks maybe he shouldn’t have done that.

Eventually though, they are spent for the night. Rhysand lies spooning his mate, his fingers lazily grazing her breasts, collarbone, abdomen, as she drifts into an easy half-sleep, mumbling encouragement. Cassian lies opposite, watching them, for they lie exposed above the bed sheets, and he can see everything. He can certainly see as Rhys reaches down and slips two exploring fingers down against her clit, massaging her gently.

They don’t say a word, save for Feyre, who mumbles a string of ‘fuck’s and ‘darling’s as Rhysand’s fingers quicken. He slips them inside her, his eyes meeting Cassian’s all the while, as with a well-learned expertise, he brings her to orgasm.

Well and truly exhausted, she slips into sleep, curled within her mate’s arms. Rhys strokes her hair fondly, kissing her forehead, before lying back and regarding Cassian. “She’s stunning, isn’t she?”

“She is, my Lord,” Cassian agrees with a solemn nod, awe in his eyes. He’s never witnessed something so destructively hot. He’s hard _again_ , dammit.

“Given all she’s been through, I thought she’d need more time. After Tamlin…” He trails off, before picking up again, “After that bastard kept a hold of her for that long, awful year, I thought she’d be back to when I first brought her here. But she always has been the kind to surprise me.”

Cassian notes that Feyre’s eyes have flickered open, though Rhysand hasn’t notice. She gives him a cheeky wink, then shuts them again. The theatrical snore she produces, Cass thinks is maybe a bit over the top, but the Lord doesn’t notice. “I never thought I could love someone like I do her,” Rhys continues, stroking her abdomen in long, languid circles. “Never thought I could be loved by someone like her. Yet here she is. My mate.”

“I would never come between that, Rhys,” Cassian says quietly, hoping to reassure him. The electric tension between the two of them was surprisingly hot that night, but he’s not sure his nerves can take it for the whole weekend.

“I know that,” Rhys says with a sigh. “It’s just-”

“Instincts?”

“Instincts.”

Chuckling softly, Cass leans over and kisses him on the lips, hoping to convey how much he adores this man in just one simple touch. “I love you both. And I love the two of you together. You… balance each other. Make each other complete. I’d burn an empire before I saw that love ruined.”

“Thank you, Cass. For everything,” Rhys says softly, returning the kiss. “We love you too.”

His chest swelling with pride and love, truly, deeply touched, Cass tries to cover his vulnerability with an impish smirk. “To the weekend?” He asks, kissing Rhys’s forehead in a makeshift toast. Rhys returns the gesture.

“To the weekend.”


End file.
